Recovery
by Saturn-Jupiter
Summary: Amy and Rory walk into the TARDIS Library to find the Doctor writing a book in an attempt to alter the stuffy old reputation associated with the Time Lords without severly changing and destroying the timelines, more specifically his.
1. Introduction

_A/N: This was designed and written mostly as a bit of fun but depending on how popular it is, I might carry on with it. Possibly._

_This ties in with another story I've uploaded, 'Cold', but their link is quite unnoticeable until later on in that particular story._

_Other than that though, I'll only carry this little thing on if people like it. So, let me know!_

**Recovery**

**In the 'middle' of the 'night'…**

Amy stumbled into the Library upon an unhappily extended quest in search of the toilet. She was, understandably, half-asleep and was fully intending on going back to bed once her business in the toilet had been completed. Eyelids drooping and ready to fall at any second, it took all of her balancing skills to remain upright. She was wearing a dressing gown, a huge fluffy white one attained from the apparently infinitely large Wardrobe. Rubbing the sleepy-dust out of her eyes with her fists, she blundered her way noisily into the vast Library, whose utter vastness rivalled even that of the Wardrobe.

"Amy!" came the unnaturally energetic voice, "You're awake!"

Amy grumbled, her response indicating the negative being emanated by her throat as a pathetically incomprehensible murmur of sound. Though her eyes had adjusted to the light, which the TARDIS had seemed to have dimmed out of sympathy, the brightness of the Library came as quite a surprise to her delicate just-barely-awake eyes. She could hear perfectly fine though as the loud bounding strides of the Doctor charged towards her, throbbing noisily around her head as he approached her with an energy that seemed simply unnatural.

"Or maybe not," corrected the Doctor, his voice audibly disappointed, "Are you okay, Pond?"

Amy mumbled an inaudible 'no'. Her bleary, blurry eyes tried to make out the Doctor standing before her but he turned out as just a blobby mess of colour, much to her frustration. She could feel him clamp his two massive hands around her head, swinging her head around and staring into her two unfocused green eyes. Feeling irritable, tired and confused, she pushed him off with far more strength than she had imagined she was capable of. Now standing a good metre or so away, the Doctor approached once more but, this time, far more slowly and with a great deal more tact than he had previously managed.

"Amy?" he asked, his voice a sensitive whisper that was loud enough for her to hear but quiet enough so as to not drag her any faster from her half-sleeping state, "You should go back to bed, you're dead on your feet."

"Can't." she mumbled.

Her eyes began to focus slowly, allowing her to make out the confusion on the Doctor's face as his head listed slightly to the left. She rubbed her eyes once more and unleashed a lengthy and loud yawn, indicating the full extent to how tired she was. The Doctor smiled and placed a hand delicately between her shoulder blades, moving her towards a conveniently placed seat that happened to be nearby. He helped her to it and she happily plonked herself into its massive comfy frame. Though unable to see it completely, she could sense that it was like an old granddad's chair. Simply from sitting in it, she was taken back to the days when she used to visit her grandparents in Scotland; her granddad was forever sat in his chair.

"Why not?" asked the Doctor, crouching down before her, "Why can't you go back to bed? I can walk you there if you'd like, the TARDIS likes to play these little games every so often, I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it, unless she's doing it to me."

"I need the toilet."

The Doctor's face fell, becoming sheepish and embarrassed in a second. It was in moments like that that he was at his most alien and his most human at precisely the same time. Smiling awkwardly, the Doctor slowly rose to his full height, instead of leaping to it with all the speed and agility of a gazelle. Amy later worked out that this was because he didn't want to make her jump, though he countered the concept with a reason so convoluted that it wasn't even worth her remembering. Helping her to her feet, the Doctor promptly led her to the toilet, waited for her to finish and then escorted her back to her bedroom.

"Nighty night," stated the Doctor waving as he waited for her to enter the room so he could close the door, "Pond."

"Nuh-night." droned Amy, still half-awake as she dragged herself back towards the bed. Settling down into it, and finding herself able to quickly snuggle back into the very position she had left ten minutes earlier, she fell asleep. It was only once she had awoken the next morning and she and Rory had decided to locate the Doctor, that her memory probed its way into her mind, leaving questions afloat, ready to be answered.

**The 'next' 'morning'…**

The double doors to the Library were huge, brown and ornate. They appeared to have been made out of wood, which specific tree, Amy was unable to name, but the colour was a very deep brown, so deep in fact that it almost resembled black if one were to give it a passing glance. Rising tall in the corridor, the double doors seemed imposing and heavy but were in fact very light and they opened with little more than a squeak. Engraved into the doors were two symbols encased within a circle on either door, a symbol that neither recognised but a symbol of untold familiarity to their driver who had, from the state of the symbols, tried fruitlessly to remove them in the past.

"What makes you think he'd be in here?" asked Rory.

"I walked in here last night when I was trying to find the toilet." Amy declared, nonchalantly opening the one of the two doors as she did so.

"You walked into the Library when you were trying to find the toilet?" Rory queried incredulously.

"I was tired."

Rory's expression remained unchanged.

"I was tired!"

When Rory's disbelieving face refused to change or accept Amy's defence, she rolled her eyes and walked into the Library. The pair had both been in there before, in fact, they had noted, it was where the Doctor spent an awful lot of his time. They'd always find the Doctor sitting towards the front, in an ancient old chair, with a book in his hand and post-it notes and a pen in the other. Usually a smile upon his face, the pile of books collected on the desk before him never seemed to diminish. Despite this, the sheer vastness and beauty of the room never ceased to grasp them firmly by the throat and make them pay attention to it.

The room was tall, rising high into the ceiling where glass panels projected the sunlight from a clear blue sky into the room. This sunlight bathed the white marble floor upon which, in most areas, a rich red carpet or rug sat. Within the beams of light, dust could be seen fluttering delicately, as though it thought itself a collection of butterflies dancing in the summer months. There were two levels to the Library and it was the entrance that was elevated above the lower floor from which an infinitely large labyrinth of bookshelves stacked with books seemed to progress and grow deeper into the bowels of the Doctor's ship.

The elevated level met with the lower level via a grand staircase that swept from the top floor from the platform's left and right, meeting at the centre before progressing downwards to meet the red carpet that engulfed the lower level's floor. However, the entrance itself was immediately greeted by an old desk, a battered and stained coffee table and an ancient granddad chair whose musky old scent induced nostalgic feelings within the couple as they approached it. Normally, leaning into the chair with a cup of tea on the coffee table, would be the Doctor flicking through a book before throwing it behind the chair and picking up another one. This occasion, however, was different.

"Doctor?" asked Amy.

The granddad chair was tucked neatly into the desk and the Doctor was leaning over the desk. A collection of pieces of paper sat strewn upon the desk. They had been scribbled upon ferociously, as though the information had to be written down before it fizzled out and faded forever. Taking a few steps closer, they discovered that it was the Doctor whom was responsible for these frantic scribbles. Pen in hand, the Doctor's right hand flew across the clean white sheets before throwing them thoughtlessly into the pile and continuing on the next blank page that sat below the unfortunate one that had just been launched vigorously into a messy pile whose purpose was known by only one man.

"What are you doing?" asked Rory, whose question carried more of an accusatory tone than his mind had originally intended.

The Doctor looked up sharply, as though having only just acknowledged their arrival into the room. His pen fell out of his hand and in one deft movement, he had pushed the chair away and run over to hug Amy and pat Rory. A smile sat across his face though his eyes briefly told another story that seemed painful to him. Disregarding the look, as it changed immediately to one of surprise and excitement, the couple were unsurprised by their unruly greeting. He did it every morning. Without fail. It would have been impressive if he wasn't so obviously insane.

"Amy, Rory! How are you?" queried the Doctor, his voice full of energy.

"Alright," replied Amy, "I just had a couple of questions-"

"Never mind that!" interrupted the Doctor, "Come and look at this!"

The Doctor sprang over towards the desk, grabbing the bits of paper and, somehow, arranged them into the correct order. Smiling goofily, he held them proudly up to the TARDIS generated sky. He then promptly placed the back down on the table and slung himself into the comfort and safety of the granddad chair which seemed, oddly, to suit him. Smiling, he signalled for them to walk over. Confused, the couple walked over, picking up the bits of paper and scanning them, reading but not full understanding what it was they were meant to be reading.

"Uh," began Rory, placing the papers back down on the table where they were promptly snapped back up by Amy's hands, "What's that?"

"Are you writing a _book_?" asked Amy, "Like a real _book_."

"Yes, well, sort of." replied the Doctor, a smile a mile wide on his face.

"What sort of book?" queried Amy, her voice brimming with excitement and curiosity so energetic that it bubbled out from her as lava erupts from a visibly violent volcano.

"A non-fiction book, all full of facts and figures and stuff, couple of pictures and stuff as well," declared the Doctor, pride audible in his voice as it resonated around the vast echo-y Library, "Can't stand non-fiction books without pictures! Drives me mad!"

"What about?" asked Amy at precisely the same moment that Rory questioned, "Why?"

"Well, I'm the last of my species, a subject I rather like to avoid so no questions there, please, but we rather had a reputation for being old and stuffy and, well, just generally _bo-ring_!" explained the Doctor who had leapt to his feet and begun waving his hands about as though without these things, the explanation would be pointless, "So! I decided that I'd rewrite our reputation!"

"Last of your species?" asked Rory, "What do you-"

"Rather sensitive subject, I'm afraid, kind of angst-y and well, miserable so I'd rather avoid it if at all possible," rattled the Doctor briefly before smiling and continuing, "All you really need to know is they're gone, gone with all their stuffy oldness and they deserve a better reputation than what they've got at the moment."

"And this has nothing at all to do with _your _reputation?" asked Amy, imitating, unknowingly, Rory's incredulous interrogations, "Can't imagine you'd like having a reputation of stuffy, old and boring."

"Ha! No!" laughed the Doctor, "I was a right rebel, given renegade-status and everything. Got put on trial twice, well, I say twice: judicial review and all sorts!"

"You breaking the law?" asked Amy, before adding sarcastically, "I'd never have seen that coming."

The Doctor frowned, disapproving of Amy's comment but, as always, not making any sounds that would otherwise refute the statement; indicating clearly that, though the Doctor disliked it, strictly speaking, it wasn't actually wrong. Rory, though he'd never admit it, thoroughly enjoyed watching the Doctor purse his lips and frown when Amy had successfully outwitted him. It was highly amusing and Rory always found himself struggling to suppress a smirk, something Amy had already noticed and mentally noted. Turning attention away from the subject of the Doctor's renegade lifestyle, he snatched the papers away from Amy.

"Anyway, so, I've been writing up stuff about our culture, our society, our philosophy, our politics, our way of life, because it's never been done before," rambled the Doctor, his face brimming with brightness and light as he spoke, "Never for 'outsiders', never for aliens. And all that'll die, with me, unless it gets out."

"And that's why you're writing a book!" added Amy.

"Ex-actly!" proclaimed the Doctor as he pointed at them, "But! Slight problem, mass production could mess up the timelines and I've done enough of that for couple of _lifetimes_. So! Solution! Make several copies and put them on specific planets, give them to specific people, people I can trust, people who won't let the book fall into the wrong hands. And _voila! _change of reputation without destroying the timelines!"

"Destroying timelines?" asked Rory.

"Yeah, say if the book fell in the wrong hands and say, the Sycorax found out how to kill a Time Lord stone dead before I met them at Christmas a few years back, it could have changed what happened, really severely changed what happened and messing up my timeline is a very very incredibly bad idea."

"Because you're the centre of universe?" mocked Rory.

"Sometimes, yeah."

A brief moment of silence passed as the not-quite-so-modest declaration sank in. In fairness to the Doctor though, when he had 'rebooted' the universe, he basically was the centre of the universe so his declaration, immodest as it may have sounded, was true. Turning his attention away from the and back to the scribbled pages of writing he pulled out a few and decided, though he never really wondered why, to read out a couple of paragraphs. He paused first though, explaining the continued ingenuity of his attempt to regain some of the lost culture of Gallifrey.

"But, of course, leaving the whole book with one person isn't the best idea, _so_, I'm going to split the book up and give the different sections to different people I trust," continued the Doctor, "Further decreases the risk of destroying the space-time continuum which is in a pretty rough state because of all of my meddling anyway."

"How're you going to split it up?" asked Amy, "Like give one person five chapters and someone else another five?"

"Sort of, but whole sections, they could be books on their own really, a section on language given to one person and one on politics given to another," elaborated the Doctor, "So, the question remains, which section would you two like?"

The couple paused. They looked at each other. They were both well aware of the scale of what the Doctor was offering. It really served to show them just how much he trusted them as, from time to time, his trust could seem withheld, as though he never fully opened up to anyone. He frowned as his two companions pondered the scale and vastness of what he was asking them, for he himself didn't quite understand the significance it held for the newly-weds. He began tapping his fingers and sighing to indicate his impatience and eventually the pair replied, though it was not the sort of answer he was expecting.

"You're gonna give us a bit?" asked Amy, "For real?"

"Yes." the Doctor's tone relayed his confusion.

"You trust us," began Rory, "That much?"

"Of course I trust you! Do you really think I'd let you in the TARDIS if I didn't?"

The Doctor was perturbed and seemed ever so slightly offended at the thought that they didn't think he trusted them. Why would he ask _them_ to trust _him _if _he_ didn't trust _them_? He'd always assumed trust was mutual. It was one of the few reasons why the Council had been able to catch him out twice during the Last Time War. They'd said that he had their unconditional trust, and so he'd returned that trust, naively. Despite that, his belief in mutual trust had continued long into his eleventh incarnation and he strongly suspected it would stay with him until he died. Properly properly died, that is.

"Now!" declared the Doctor, "Which bit would you like? I've got Politics, Physiology, History, Society, Culture, Education, Language, Family-"

"Family." they interrupted in perfect synchrony.

The Doctor seemed puzzled. Their choice, somehow, had slightly caught him out of the blue, though, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Rory naturally seemed a sort of family man and Amy had an undying curiosity as to the Doctor's own family, as he had once let slip about having children and an aunt with two heads. He searched through the pile frantically until he pulled out a bundle of pages that had been bound together by a couple of pieces of string where one would normally expect to see a spine. He flicked through it, smiling as he did so, and chucked it to them. Rory caught it and the pair stared at it in awe.

However, the Doctor had an underlying sadistic streak and he wasn't about to let them read it when there was adventure to be had. So, he clapped his hands together and skipped past them, proclaiming that they should put that 'thing' away in their room and come to the console 'ASAP' because there he'd had a call in the middle of the night from a 'nice old lady' who was having problems 'with a load of cat-shaped sentient lamps' who were trying to 'overthrow the government' and enforce 'slightly uncanny laws'.

Begrudgingly placing the bound document in their room, in a bag that they were positive they would take with them when they left the TARDIS for good, they made their way to the console room. On their way, they heard a purring sound throughout the TARDIS, but dismissed it as nothing. The Doctor, who was at the console piloting the TARDIS through the ravages of the often savage time vortex, knew in his hearts, _felt _in his hearts that the TARDIS was happy. She was happy that he'd begun to properly recover from the Time War.

"You know, Dear," whispered the Doctor as he affectionately patted the console, "I can't believe they fell for that story about cat shaped sentient lamps! Humans, eh?"

**A Slightly 'Comprehensive' Guide to Time Lord Civilisation**

Introduction

So, a big book on a weird alien race you've probably never heard of called Time Lords. It could all be a bit confusing and unbelievable if you didn't have this handy little introduction to summarise a whole load of pretty important stuff. So, to get the ball rolling, a good place to start is their planet.

Gallifrey was a sort of reddish planet that could be found in the constellation of Kasterborous, or as the one bit of the Universe called it, 'the Seven Systems', or as another bit of the Universe called it, 'the Minyan Constellation of Kasterborous', or as it's known by most pilots, 'the Kasterborous Sector'. Anyway, due to its reddish colour, Gallifrey was also known as the 'Shining Planet of the Seven Systems'. Oddly enough, it wasn't actually the Time Lords that came up with that name, stupid as it sounds.

Gallifrey was a quite a big bit larger than the Earth, or Sol Three, and was pretty much the same with its oxygen levels, gravity, temperature and stuff, but the weather was usually a lot better than some particular areas on Earth that you could mention… *coughBRITAINcough*. The elements found in the air on Gallifrey were virtually identical to that of Earth, except there was no argon, but as an element, it doesn't really do anything very useful anyway. It was the only planet in the cosmos where you could find white star diamonds which would be an impressive achievement if they didn't look very very similar to normal, much cheaper diamonds. It was also the most abundant planet for Gallifreyan Zinc – duh! - which is one of the hardest known metals in the universe… or was anyway, not much of it hanging around anymore.

Gallifrey had two suns, and the second sun, which was made, always rose from the south, just to confuse people who got lost when they wandered off into the middle of nowhere. The original sun, the one that wasn't made, was called Pogar, which is a pretty rubbish name as far as names go. Of course, because there were two suns, nights were really short but more of that later. There was also a moon, there usually is when it comes to planets. There was only one moon though and it was called Pazithi Gallifreya but was known eons ago as the Virgin Moon Goddess which is a mouthful in English, let alone in Old High Gallifreyan. It orbited every twenty-seven days and changed colour depending on the weather conditions, but it was always ivory and visible during the day.

On Gallifrey (see! this was going somewhere!) lived an ancient race known as Time Lords, or Gallifreyans, or Chronarchs or Lords of Time, or their latin name which is _dominus temporus_. The civilisation of the Time Lords was one of the oldest and most powerful civilisations in the entire universe. They held 'absolute power' – though what exactly 'absolute power' is supposed to be is beyond me – for ten million years but were wiped out during the Last Great Time War, which left only one remaining survivor.

This book is an encyclopaedia, a fountain of Time Lord knowledge: an attempt to shout out to the universe that the Time Lords weren't just 'stuffy and old'; they were also interesting and very, very clever, though, admittedly, they were still very, very old and a fair bit stuffy. But, to be fair, when you're that old it's perfectly acceptable to be a bit stuffy.

Signed,

D


	2. History

_A/N: This will end up as a piece of discontinuity because the Doctor will be reappearing in the Sarah Jane Adventures, so they'll have encountered each other, rendering this chapter, technically wrong, but I quite liked it when I wrote it so I thought, I'll put it in anyway._

_Also, the website I was using for details about Gallifrey has mysteriously vanished from my favourites list so I was using significantly smaller amounts of information for this chapter, so please do forgive me if anything is wrong._

_Hopefully everyone's in character, and I hope you guys enjoy it._

**Recovery**

**In the middle of the night…**

WHRAP! WHRAP! WHRAP! THUD!

The terrifically ungracious sound penetrated the air with a wailing, wheezing, grinding sound that was completely incomparable to anything else in the known universe, or indeed, the unknown universe. Due to the simple uniqueness of the sound, it immediately awoke the occupants of the house within whose vicinity the noisy object had decided to materialise. The pair shot up in bed, disbelief a picture on their faces until they heard further sounds that seemed to be emerging from the general direction of the noisy universe.

"Ow! What the-" screamed the voice in the distance, "Since when was there a box of useless junk there… oh no, wait, oh yeah, I put that there. Never mind! ARGH! What in the name of – oh… that's, oh ho, she is _not _going to like that…"

The voice itself, whilst immediately unfamiliar to the pair that were now frantically running around the house in pyjamas and dressing gowns which flayed about behind them as the disturbed air particles thrashed out in terror, was a voice that they recognised via the pattern with which it spoke. There was only one person they knew of that spoke with such conviction and weakness within the space of a few sentences. There was certainly only one person they knew of that would shout in the middle of the night on a school night.

Luke stood, panting in the stairwell, having physically exerted himself from running about in search of his slippers and dressing gown, which he had recovered from the kitchen. Staring up, eyes blurring slightly from the speed which he had forced his body to move at so quickly after having been awoken from what was a rather pleasant slumber, he watched the door of his 'technically adopted' mother's bedroom. Sarah Jane, though, had long since become his actual mother; the fact that he was adopted was merely a formality and a rather annoying technicality.

Eventually, she emerged from the door, it being swung open with a violent ferocity that was made out of haste rather than intended violence. She didn't bother pulling the door to behind her, instead, immediately jogging down the steps of the stairs with a vivid and wide smile upon her face that was almost enough to mask a worried and sceptical concern that Luke had been able to recognise for a long period of time. He followed with equal enthusiasm, and the two trampled the carpet as they stampeded downstairs, full of an excitement matched only by the feelings of children awakening on Christmas morn.

"Is it him?" asked Luke, his voice loudly resonating over the pitter-patter of footsteps that echoed around the large house that was number thirteen on Bannerman Road, "Is it really him?"

"There's only one thing in the universe that makes a sound like that, Luke!" exclaimed Sarah Jane, her enthusiasm and excitement virtually tangible in her words, "It's definitely him!"

Missing the last two steps, their legs bent at the knees to reduce the force of impact as their feet, covered only by flimsy slippers, collided with the floor. Running towards the door and pulling the inner one to with aggressive doggedness, Sarah Jane unlocked the front door, fumbling fruitlessly with the lock until she was forced to take a deep breath and pay attention to what was normally the very simple task of unlocking her own front door. Once unlocked, the door was pulled in towards the house with so much force that it unleashed a resonating wooden sound as it slammed against the wall inside.

Prancing over the door's threshold like an excited herd of deer, Sarah Jane and Luke looked sharply to their left. Sarah Jane's face immediately fell into one of parental distaste; the look that one would expect a parent to wear if their child had just performed an action with which they disagreed. Contrastingly, Luke's bright eyes lit up with awe as his eyes fell once again upon the mighty machine and its really quite odd driver. This occasion, though, the crazy driver was nowhere to be seen, having seemingly disappeared.

"Doctor!" snapped Sarah Jane Smith, her disapproving tone flicking against the air like a very real and dangerous whip ready to attack the unfortunate driver responsible for invoking her disapproval.

"Luke!" cried out the unfamiliar voice, "Is it safe to come out?"

Luke frowned. His left eyebrow raised ever so slightly. He couldn't, for the briefest of moments, fathom precisely what the Doctor was asking. From what data was present at the time, there was no danger. Then it hit him, he looked to Sarah Jane and then to the blue box, whose position suddenly struck him as being quite seriously precarious. Finally clicking exactly what the Doctor was questioning when he was probing the safety of revealing himself, Luke could do very little but tell him – what he perceived – to be the truth.

"Uh," began Luke, "I think so, yes."

"Are you sure?" asked the voice, "Cause I know what she's like in a bad mood and I'd rather keep my body _un-_bruised, thank you very much."

"Well if you hadn't parked the TARDIS on my car," hissed Sarah Jane aggressively, determined to defend her very pretty and lovely vehicle, "I wouldn't _be _in a bad mood, would I?"

Turning their attention once more to the car, it became apparent that the TARDIS, the blue box, was in fact, precariously balanced on the small vehicle's roof, wobbling slightly as the wind danced lightly against its frame. The TARDIS, even in the dim moonlight of the early hours of the morning, had visibly changed from the last time that the pair had set eyes upon it.

A deeper, darker and more vibrant shade of blue, the TARDIS almost blended in with the darkness of the night that sat behind it. A white outline now hugged the frames of the windows, making them clear and visible in the blackness. The familiar police notice and words were inscribed upon the box in the same places but an unfamiliar logo, claiming to be that of 'St. John Ambulance' sat on the right-hand door. Their voice was drawn away from the box as the voice called out once more, apparently from behind the car.

"If it's any consolation, I came to give you a present," began the Doctor, before hesitantly adding, "And I'm not lying this time."

"Was this a present before or after you landed your TARDIS on my car?"

"Before."

"Fine," declared Sarah Jane, "You can come out then."

"You promise not to hit me?"

"Yes."

"Or throw something at me?"

"Yes." she stated, a frown beginning to form on her face.

"Or get _Luke _to throw something or hit me?"

"Yes." stated Sarah Jane whose frown was now so fiercely shaped on her face that the thought of going against her promises did, quite inexplicably, pass across her mind.

"That's good enough for me!" a figure leapt out from behind the car, shouting, with arms wide, "Hello!"

The man that had emerged from behind the car looked nothing like the Doctor. He was a little shorter and of a very different sort of build. Rather than being tall and slim, body clad in a tight-fitting suit accompanied by a long, swooshing, tan-brown full-length, jacket of suede, he was medium height with a larger, seemingly more muscular build. A pale red striped shirt was done up to the very top with a red bowtie sitting over the top button of the shirt. Black trousers, that just about covered the base of his worn black boots, were held up by red suspenders that were mostly hidden behind a jacket of tweed. The elbows of this jacket of tweed were covered with a brown material that appeared, in the dark distance, to be some form of suede-y material, though it was hard to be precise.

It was a different face as well. The man had a far more pronounced bone structure, and a face that was quite significantly unlike the face of the man they had met previously. Two startling green eyes sat beneath barely visible brown eyebrows. The right hand side of the man's face was mostly obscured by a mop of brown hair that seemed to hang over that particular side of his face, until the man moved, whereupon the hair would be inclined to bob about until finding a new position with which it was comfortable. He carried himself quite differently as well. Instead of waltzing about with a refined sense of confidence and authority, he seemed to exhibit the air of a fool hiding a brain of surprising intellect.

"You're not the Doctor." stated Luke.

"Is that a new face?" asked Sarah Jane, slightly mockingly, "Again?" she then paused, as though a revelation had dawned upon her, "Is that what last time was about?"

"Yeah, last time you saw me, I was dying… again, I seem to be doing that quite a lot," rambled the Doctor, "I should really stop, it is _very_ unhealthy, or so I'm told."

"What was it this time then?" she queried.

"Radiation poisoning… again," he replied, "And how're you two? Been up to your usual tricks? Where are the other two, I could have sworn there were four of you last time."

"It's two 'o' clock in the morning," replied Luke, "Everyone's asleep."

"Whoops! Yeah, sorry, I meant to arrive this afternoon and I'm sorry about the car, it won't mark, you'll be happy to know, but, uh, yeah," rattled the Doctor, "Anyway, so yes, present!"

The Doctor began fumbling around for something that was apparently concealed somewhere on his person. After finding that he was unable to find the object of his desire in the pocket he was searching at the time, he proceeded to investigate the contents of another pocket with more marked desperation than before. Once realising it was also absent from that particular pocket, he tore his jacket from his frame and attacked the outside pockets of the jacket with far more violence than one would deem necessary for the removal of a singular object. Whilst the Doctor was attacking his tweed jacket with as much ferocity as a Dalek when exterminating, Sarah Jane and Luke exchanged words.

"Is that really him?" asked Luke.

"Yeah, Time Lords have a way of avoiding death, they regenerate, change every cell in their body and become," explained Sarah Jane before sighing belatedly, "A completely new man."

"So they can live forever?" asked Luke.

Suddenly leaping from the obscurity of their peripheral vision, the Doctor sprang in front of them with a bundled document in his hands. A smile on his face reinforced the expression of joy evident on his face. He was holding the papers with a very tangible sense of pride and satisfaction. He patted Luke on the back twice with a slightly altered smile that seemed to be one in admiration of the boy's apparent naivety about Time Lords.

"No," replied the Doctor, "Twelve regenerations, thirteen lives, though I can name about a hundred Time Lords who cheated and lied their way into having a couple extra, but they were very _very _naughty."

Before either Luke or Sarah Jane could get a word in edgeways, the document was raised and slapped violently into their hands. With a resounding and deadening final thud, the document unleashed tiny torrents of red pain that soared through their bodies as it hit them. Cringing ever so slightly, they detected the faintest emotion of sheepish regret in the Doctor's face before it was swept away with a goofy smile which was, strangely, accompanied by a deadly serious emotion in his eyes. Sensing their confusion, the Doctor explained the significance of the present he had rather painfully flung into their open arms.

"That is for you… you two… you…" he counted on his fingers, "Wait… isn't there six of you? Oh, well, doesn't matter, the fact is, that's for you lot and you lot alone. No passing it on to UNIT. They've got enough of my stuff as it is… which, speaking of… do you happen to know where the Brig lives now? He's moved without telling me… again. You'd think he was trying to get rid of me or something. Really!"

"Have you got a pen and paper?" asked Sarah Jane, passing the document into Luke's capable hands, "I'll write it down for you."

"Oh, thanks and, _really_, Sarah Jane! 'Do you have a pen and paper?' Just who do you think you're dealing with?" retorted the Doctor, mocking offense, "Of _course_ I have a pen and paper!" he started patting himself down in search of the aforementioned pen and paper, before being forced to add, "Somewhere in here anywhere… dimensionally transcendent pockets, they can be such a pain sometimes!"

After another thirty seconds or so of attacking the innards of his tweed jacket, whose seams protested violently as he tore into the pockets, which seemed far larger than a quick glance would perceive, he emerged with a small pad of post-it notes and a much abused pen. Slapping it into Sarah Jane's open hand with a very detectable hint of pride and indignation, he smiled and watched her as she began to write down the address. In the meantime, despite her writing fairly quickly, he turned his attention to Luke, the young boy whose life he had innocently prevented from being inflicted with a broken leg.

"How're you then, Luke?" asked the Doctor, a bright smile on his face, "Been treating you, has she? Cause if she hasn't…" the Doctor's eyes squinted threateningly from the very concept that Luke should be deprived sweets when he craved them.

"No, she's great," replied Luke, pausing and querying, "Why did you save me? Was I going to die? That car…"

"No, no, no, no, no," shook the Doctor, "But it did save you a broken leg."

"Oh." stated Luke, surprised and slightly deflated by the simplicity of the answer.

"There you go!" exclaimed Sarah Jane, mimicking the Doctor's hand-slapping action as she whacked the post-it note pad and pen into the Time Lord's open hand.

Smiling, the Doctor shook Luke's hand and embraced his mother in a hearty hug before leaping onto the car's boot. Ungracefully climbing back into his machine, two pairs of arms could be seen aiding him in his dogged determination. Rolling her eyes, Sarah Jane tutted and observed Luke's perplexed expression with a wide grin. Brief cries of, 'what the hell are you playing at' could be heard emanating from the blue box as it wobbled on the car's roof, much to Sarah Jane's visible horror. Once the Doctor had disappeared into the TARDIS, the door began to close. It was prevented from closing, however, by Sarah's cry.

"Doctor!"

"Yeah?" responded the Doctor, whose head emerged from the ajar gap.

"What is it?" asked Sarah Jane, pointing to the bound document of apparently hand-written pages.

"… History." was the only reply he gave before disappearing into the box which promptly dematerialised, leaving only open, mid-morning air where it had once stood upon Sarah's precious mode of transportation.

"History?"

**A Slightly 'Comprehensive' Guide to Time Lord Civilisation**

History

So, Time Lords and their history. Truthfully, there's not actually enough paper in the universe to write it all down. Someone calculated it. Twice. You wouldn't have enough trees if you cut down every tree in the universe five times over. So, this section is more of a summary of Time Lord Civilisation. And in fact, this summary is an introduction to the actually much larger summary which is in the rest of the five hundred page long document you were given.

How did the Time Lords come into existence? Well, nobody actually knows. They did research, even sent some people back there to do some cheating, but nothing ever came out of it. There's a bit of evidence here and there to suggest that the very first Gallifreyans only had one heart but they're mostly theories and there wasn't any solid line on the subject. It's said that every planet in the universe has a Creation Myth, at _least_ one, but, no, Gallifrey didn't. Or if we ever did, it went missing somewhere because the only thing we were taught about our origins as a species was, 'uh, I don't know'. And that was the _official _line.

We were a very clever bunch of people and we'd had thirty revolutions, fifty renaissances and two minor civil wars by the time that 'the Dark Times' came along. By then, the Capitol was a developed city, the Academy was a breeding-ground for clever people with clever ideas and we'd already begun work on the massive barrier that engulfed the planet. Anyway, so this crazy, insane but clever Gallifreyan called Peylix theorised in an essay that the residual energy of an exploded sun would be enough to start experimenting with time-travel, something Gallifreyans had always dreamed of (we weren't called Time Lords at this point because we weren't the self-proclaimed Lords of Time, we were just very very time sensitive people).

His teacher, however, thought he was a complete loony and gave him an omega grade, the lowest possible grade you can get. Ignoring the comments he was getting, Peylix (who later renamed himself Omega) and his mates, Rassilon and the Other, decided that they'd investigate his crazy idea. Creating the Hand of Omega, Omega successfully managed to explode a star, called Qqaba (try saying that when you're drunk, or actually, at all). It turned into a black hole which was then, well, 'captured' and fixed beneath the Panoptican (the biggest room in the Citadel). This black hole became known as the Eye of Harmony and was the power source of every TARDIS in the universe.

Omega supposedly died along with the star. This turned out to be wrong. He was actually alive and well and trying to, on one occasion, to trap me in an alternate universe of anti-matter so he could escape to the real universe and wreak havoc on Gallifrey, and on another, steal my body in order to destroy Time Lord Civilisation. To think he was my childhood hero. Anyway, the Other, who had helped him, was a complete mystery and every 'fact' about him is based on, well, guesswork. Rassilon however became President, went a bit mad, died and was brought back during the Last Time War where he went a bit mad.

Regardless of their tendencies to go a bit insane and become obsessed with dreams of destroying their own civilisation, Omega, Rassilon and the Other were considered to be the founders of Time Lord civilisation. They gave us the power we needed to perform time-travel experiments, which later led to the creation of the first TARDIS, which was later adapted and improved and heavily regulated. Far too heavily for some people. *coughNOTMEcough*

Once we had the knowledge of Time, we started some unhealthy traditions that had, mostly, been abandoned by my generation. There was a game, in which creatures were removed from their own timeline, placed in the Death Zone, and encouraged to fight to the death for the enjoyment of the Time Lords. To be fair though, virtually every civilisation has gone through a phase like that and it was quickly declared forbidden, never to be seen of again, until a little incident involving five Mes and President Borusa, who also went a little bit mad.

There were a couple of Time Wars, minor in comparison to the Last Great Time War, which, as the name suggests, the worst of the lot, and, the last. There were a couple of campaigns against certain species, such as the Great Vampires and the Racnoss, but we weren't very good at it and they kept surviving, usually coming back to bite us in the metaphysical bottom.

So yeah, once we had control of Time, we waltzed about a bit, letting the entire universe know about it, lording it over. Eventually, the history books aren't specific about precisely when, we decided that we should look after the universe by _leaving it well alone._ Yes. The 'non-interference policy' stopped the Time Lords from doing _anything_. They didn't help, they didn't hurt, they left everyone well alone. Pleas of help went ignored and the few civilisations high enough to be aware of our presence, began to resent us for our 'old, stuffy, non-interfering' ways. Things only got worse once the policy became a law.

Despite being very technologically advanced and very cocky about it, our weapons and defences were millennia behind some other civilisations. We were invaded twice, with pretty bad consequences. On both occasions, they had to get me in to help because, due to their stupid law, they had no idea how to handle the invasion. It was one of the few things that stopped them locking me up for my constant interference in the timelines and affairs of other planets.

Eventually, there was a massive war, a truly massive war, against the Daleks and though the Time Lords fought fiercely, truly fiercely, they… again, went a bit mad. There seems to be a pattern involving male Presidents serving more than three terms and them going a bit potty, surprised no one noticed that at the time, to be honest.

Anyway, so yeah, the Time Lords came up with a 'final solution' which was to destroy Time. Time itself. And ascend into beings of higher consciousness. At this point, most of the Time Lords were either too desperate, or too scared to say anything against the revived, and slightly insane, Rassilon and the Council. But it was all in vain and both the Daleks and the Time Lords were wiped out, well, mostly, anyway.

It seems as though the Daleks have a 'one ship survived card' and they keep playing it. Every single time, gets boring after the fifth time. Someone should keep a tally.

Signed,

D


	3. Time Sensitivity

**A/N: Wow, sorry for the very late update. Yeah. The updates for this are going to be severely irregular but being as there's no real plot, it isn't too damaging.**

**Thanks for your patience.**

**Recovery**

**Early one winter morning…**

WHRAP! WHRAP! WHRAP! THUD!

Jack shot upwards in his bed. It didn't take a genius to recognise that sound if they'd heard it before. It was the ultimate alarm clock. He didn't particularly want to go into to much detail as to where precisely the bed was or the fact that he was sharing it with Alonso, an ex-midshipman whose name was given to him by an admittedly ill-looking Doctor. Jack stole a glance at a clock, though how much it could be said to actually resemble a clock is another matter entirely, and deduced that it had been little over eight hours since he had last seen the Doctor. This was quite unprecedented, the Doctor never went back for anyone, for any valid reason. Why then, was he back?

CRASH! MIAOOW! BANG!

Clumsy as well. That was certainly unusual. In fact, it could only really mean one of two possible things. Either the Doctor had fallen ill or become wounded, and therefore could not fully concentrate on what it was he was trying to do, or, the Doctor had regenerated again into, what Jack could only guess, was a more clumsy incarnation than the previous two. Jack withdrew from the bed, quickly dressing himself with the clothes that had been quite carelessly thrown to the floor. He clothed himself carefully, wary not to wait Alonso who was sleeping rather like a peaceful baby. Jack decided not to bother putting his boots on as it would deprive him of time and boots were unnecessarily loud, in his experience, when you wanted to make sure you didn't wake someone up.

"Sorry!" the voice paused, "Wait a minute, why is there a cat here?"

The voice was muffled underneath a mumbled moan that emanated from Alonso as he pulled the duvet around himself, apparently feeling the cold. Jack's attempts at hearing the voice were not aided by the constant whistling of air that fed the air conditioned room day and night. It was only a small room. A room whose size he could easily compare to those of an early 21st Century budget hotel. He would quickly cover his tracks by admitting that he'd read Wikipedia for that knowledge, if he could feel shame, which, at that moment in time, he couldn't. He walked towards the door and, double-checking he was fully clothed, opened it inwards.

A man walked past, apparently oblivious of the door that had just opened to his right. Jack smiled. After bumping into the Doctor as often as he had, he knew precisely who the awkward young man was. Leaning into the door's frame, Jack waited for the tweed-wearing Doctor to backtrack. It took thirty seconds longer than he expected and his smile widened exponentially upon setting his eyes on the Doctor's brand new face. Well, what he _thought _was the Doctor's brand new face, anyway, as it would later expire, several months had transpired since the Doctor last saw Jack.

"Jack!" exclaimed the Doctor's young and energetic voice which quickly quietened as the bright green eyes fell upon the sleeping man in the dark distance, "Oh, and Alonso? Blimey! I am _really _not paying much attention to the controls today!"

"New face?" asked Jack, grinning wildly whilst his eyes, to the Doctor's complete ignorance, examined the new model.

"Yup, number eleven," nodded the Doctor, "Getting through them a bit faster than I'd like, if I'm entirely honest. Third one in," he coughed, "Years."

"I'm not arguing."

"…" the Doctor frowned and paused, as though he didn't even vaguely comprehend what Jack was saying, before continuing, "Anyway, so, got a present for you."

Captain Jack Harkness's face lit up whilst his left eyebrow arched upwards to indicate a distinct expression of confusion. The Doctor was difficult to predict at the best of times but being given a present was something new. Either the new model thought himself as some sort of Santa Claus, or the Doctor's present was unusual. Deciding the latter were the more likely of the two, Jack watched with distracted interest as the Doctor fumbled frantically in his pockets. Eventually, the Doctor retrieved a bundle of coffee-stained A4 paper from one of the pockets and grasped it proudly.

"Not entirely sure why I'm giving you _this _one in particular," added the Doctor, his tone audibly fractured between giving Jack the document and running away as fast as his legs could carry him, "But I'm handing them out to a few people and you may find it interesting."

The Doctor's paler than before hand held out the bound collection of battered papers as a repressed smile snuck onto his energetic, beaming face. Jack couldn't help but grin even as his face contorted with curiosity as his hand outstretched to take the document from his friend. Jack ran a finger over the document's title, noticing that it was hand-written by whom he could only assume was the Doctor himself, as the title suggested, by its very nature, that only the Doctor could have written it. When Jack looked up, he saw the Doctor smiling weakly with tiny beads of sweat pattering his suddenly pale face. For lack of a better descriptor, the Time Lord looked as though he were about to bend forwards and heave all over the floor.

"Are you okay, Doctor?" asked Jack, outstretching an arm to fall on the Doctor's shoulder, "You look sick."

To his surprise, the Doctor took a step back and smiled, as though trying to imply that the movement was caused by something other than Jack's hand. Breathing deeply, the Doctor's startling green eyes bore into Jack's own before firing off around the door's frame as though it hid some mystery that was far more interesting and important than Jack himself. Jack paused, feelings tearing throughout his body and mind as he tried to make sense of what the body language was supposed to mean. Then, there it was, the slightest curl of the upper lip, the slightest tremble of the bottom lip. It was not as strong as disgust, but neither was it as weak as simply being 'put-off'.

"Timey wimey stuff again?" queried Jack, putting his hand in his pocket as the other clasped the document protectively, as though fearing that the Doctor would suddenly snatch it from him, run to the TARDIS and vanish out of his life for good.

"I'm sorry," nodded the Doctor, genuine remorse punctuating his eyes so strongly that Jack felt his back leg draw itself further into the safety of the room's darkness, "Still, that document, it might explain a bit better than I'm doing; seem to be quite a fair bit ineloquent this time 'round."

"At least you're not Northern." joked Jack Harkness, fondly remembering the leather jacket-wearing, aggressive Doctor that he'd first met.

"Aha! No," smiled the Doctor, catching the joke and adding, "I was Scottish once you know, haven't been Irish yet though. Or Welsh. English seems to be the default."

"Always a white bloke though?"

"Well, so far."

"So far?" asked Jack, a devilish smirk sneaking up on his smile.

"It's pot luck really, depends on DNA and weather conditions and time vortex fluctuations and all sorts," rambled the Doctor waving his hands about as though they could explain the whole thing a lot better than he was doing at the time, "Really quite complicated stuff, regeneration… well, for me anyway. Apparently other people found it quite easy."

"So you could turn into a woman?"

The Doctor's eyes widened slightly from the very suggestion. Jack smirked at the Doctor's offense, as it rendered him with a rather amusing expression. There was something naïve about the new Doctor and that impression probably solely stemmed from the fact that the new model was physically much younger than, from what Jack had ascertained from reading UNIT files, any of his previous incarnations. It was highly amusing though, regardless of the reasons behind it.

"DOCTOR! WE HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY!"

Visibly sighing in relief, the Doctor turned towards the general direction of the TARDIS and Jack couldn't help by smirk smugly from the assurance that the answer to his question was a firm 'yes'. Whilst the gender of the Doctor would never ever really bother Jack, it was the fact that it bothered the Doctor that amused him. It didn't always take a lot to amuse Jack anyway but the new model's naivety was certainly on that rather exclusive list.

"SHUT UP, _POND_!" shouted the Doctor down the hallway, "IT'S A TIME MACHINE! WE'VE GOT MORE THAN 'ALL DAY'!"

"New companion?"

"Companion_s_," nodded the Doctor, "Two of them."

"Friends?"

"Married."

"Really?" asked Jack, eyebrows metaphorically shooting through the roof.

"No! Jack," reprimanded the Doctor, "Just because I'm new does not mean that I don't remember what those eyebrows mean."

The Last of the Time Lords quickly patted Jack's shoulder before withdrawing his hand with the speed one would expect of someone snatching their hand away from the mouth of a hungry lion. Smiling weakly, as though intentionally suppressing the smile for some reason, the Doctor turned to his right and began to walk along the corridor to its end where a large blue box engulfed the exit. Jack leant out of the room, document temporarily forgotten as he watched the Doctor walk away with a gait totally unlike the one he had seen just eight hours ago.

"Doctor?" shouted Jack, continuing once the Time Lord had spun on his heels to look at him, "Did it hurt?"

"…" the Doctor paused, though his face indicated clearly that the question was understood, "Did what hurt?"

"The regeneration," replied Jack, his voice, now a whisper, being carried to the Doctor on air conditioned gusts of warmth, "When I saw it… it looked painful."

"Jack," the Doctor walked forwards quickly and stopped just a metre in front of Jack with a solemn mask sitting over his face, "You know the answer to that question better than anyone. You're the closest humankind will ever get to knowing what regeneration feels like. And there isn't a creature alive that should envy that."

Nodding and smiling once again, the Doctor walked off towards the TARDIS. Jack stood silently and pondered the withering words for a few seconds before something more important and more impressing struck itself upon his brain. Eradicating all sympathies, all feelings of guilt and ignoring completely the document in his hand, Jack called out for the Doctor once more, though refusing to explicitly call out his name. Instead, Captain Jack Harkness, cried out to the Oncoming Storm but one more sentence before the blue door closed and the TARDIS wheezed its way into the savage Time Vortex.

"NICE BOW TIE!"

Nothing but dust, picked up from somewhere, remained in the spot the TARDIS had once occupied. The dust swirled and danced and leapt before falling to the floor and dying, slowly as wind ceased to supply the energy it needed to move. Jack sighed and found that the sigh swept the smile right off his face, for such was the nature of the emotion which hid itself within the seemingly infinitely lasting sigh. He closed the door, shutting himself off from the corridor which had held just a minute ago, the wonderful madman whom he loved so dearly in his heart. Setting himself down in the bed, having stripped back down to his boxers, he remembered that the document was still clutched within his right hand and he immediately set about reading it in the faded light that began to rise from the window.

**A Slightly 'Comprehensive' Guide to Time Lord Civilisation**

Time Sensitivity and TARDISes

It's such a complicated thing that it deserves, by rights, its own little section. There aren't many species in the universe that are what scientists like to term 'time sensitive' – if only because the phrase isn't very scientific sounding and isn't nearly long enough for them to feel all science-y when the hand it out. You can count the number of time sensitive peoples on two hands but the most famous of these time sensitive species were the Time Lords (though the name there is a bit of a giveaway, to be honest).

Time Lords were born time-sensitive and it was exceedingly rare for houses and public buildings to have clocks because there was simply no need for them. If you ever asked for the time, you would get stared at before being taken away, wrapped in a white jacket, by burly men, or women. Time Lords worked to the universe's time (which, coincidentally, is a couple of minutes faster than Earth's GMT) and could tell you precisely how much time had elapsed between one point and another. Most Time Lords were fuzzy on the nanoseconds, and a few were in the habit of rounding to the nearest minute, but generally speaking, people got the seconds.

Time sensitivity is extremely unbearably annoying because unless you're completely distracted, you can feel every second ticking by. It's even worse when you're sitting in a room with a clock in it that is _not _set to the universe's time. There were a few points in Time Lord history where organisations would torture Gallifreyans for information using that very method, though, they quickly worked out that it was only tortuous to certain, hyperactively impatient Time Lords. I was used as a prime example of a hyperactively impatient Time Lord. If you change the word Time Lord and replace it with a couple of Gallifreyan swear words, you have the exact phrase used in the document.

Anyway, so, yeah, Time Lords were extremely time sensitive. There were different levels of time sensitivity and after you were exposed to the Untempered Schism, you're awareness shot through the roof, or the metaphorical roof, being as there was no actual roof anywhere near the Untempered Schism. That was why there were only ever three real reactions to seeing the Schism. There was inspiration, those who would go on and do amazingly clever and wonderful things. There were those that would go mad, completely potty, they'd see too much or too little and they'd withdraw into their minds forever. Then there was fear, those of us that ran off into the distance.

Time isn't a beautiful thing, and it's about as straight as bundle of circular squiggles drawn by a drunken, half-blind, thumb-less creature. When you look into the Untempered Schism, you see the Time Vortex itself and when you're eight years old, it's terrifying. The Vortex points and smiles and laughs at you, because you're tiny, absolutely minute in the scheme of things. When you're that young and you're only just developing an ego, it's soul shattering stuff. Still, you got three days from education with it so, it wasn't all bad.

After seeing that horrible nasty Time Vortex, you can pick up an object or see a person and you can snatch glimpses of where it's been, what it was, what it will be, what it could be, what it has the potential to become. You can see events and see every single possible outcome. You can see outcomes and see every possible result of that outcome. And when you come across a fixed point, something that can't change, that can't move, that shouldn't move, it makes you sick to your stomach because it is wrong. You don't know why it's wrong, you just know that it can't ever change and that is enough to scare any time sensitive being to its core.

And once you're time sensitive, you start picking up other things. You start feeling the planet turning beneath your feet, you start feeling the pull of gravity and the current of electricity and the radiation of everyday objects. To start with, it's horrible and nasty and slightly nauseating. First time a Time Lord feels Gallifrey moving beneath their feet, they feel like they're going to be flung off into space, never to be seen of or heard of again. It's weird, nasty, evil stuff.

Then there's the Time Lord's, arguably, greatest invention. The TARDIS. A sentient time sensitive being in its own right, TARDISes were just as wary of time as Time Lords. TARDISes were complicated, complicated beings. They travel through the Vortex and can feel the time streams and so TARDISes were often even more time sensitive than Time Lords. TARDISes were usually piloted by six Gallifreyans. This was for two main reasons. 1. TARDISes were bloody hard to fly and you need to use all six panels of the console when in flight. 2. The TARDIS could not bond as easily with their pilots, which was, according to the Council, 'dangerous'.

Among one of the reasons dolled out by the Council as to why it was 'dangerous' for a TARDIS to bond with its Time Lord pilot was because the two became inextricably linked. If a circuit broke, the pilot would feel a muscle twinge. If a major component broke, the pilot would suffer a sprain. If a TARDIS was destroyed when bonded to its pilot, the pilot would suffer immense physical pain but would survive unharmed, though they would usually be driven insane. A Time Lord's bond to their TARDIS, once forged, was nigh on unbreakable and it wasn't unheard of for a TARDIS to take its pilots illness or injury into itself so that its Time Lord could recover faster.

This is just a brief introduction though because there's a whole load of technical science-y terms that explain everything a lot more clearly. There's diagrams and graphs and all sorts. Should be a pamphlet from the Council in there somewhere about TARDIS bonding and how its very naughty and how they were introducing laws against it and they never went ahead with any of those threats. Bunch of pushovers.

Signed,

D


End file.
